


Brakebills has Finals, Too

by schifaroo



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bottom Eliot Waugh, Competency Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Quentin Coldwater, Dom/sub, Edging, Established Relationship, Established consent, Hot for the teacher, M/M, Masturbation, Obedience, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Magic, Sex Toys, Sub Eliot Waugh, Top Quentin Coldwater, Voyeurism, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schifaroo/pseuds/schifaroo
Summary: A group of professors goes missing. No one really cares, except for the students whose professors don't follow suit—and, of course, an enterprising young sub who really,reallywants his dom to surprise him with something special.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 19
Kudos: 57





	Brakebills has Finals, Too

**Author's Note:**

> New ‘verse, new roles. May you enjoy lovey dom Q and his happy little sub, El.

The week before finals, a group of professors suddenly disappeared. At any other university in the world, such an event would be catastrophic, but it was Brakebills. All their students were assigned generic finals and given at minimum passing grades. Dean Fogg assured students registered for their classes in the fall that he already had replacements lined up. The only decent amount of concern about it seemed to come from students whose professors hadn’t conveniently disappeared before grades were issued.

The professors in question all occupied the same wing of the Material Permutations building. Quentin decided a month was probably enough time to make sure any curses or monsters were cleared from the vacant offices. He could be patient. He could wait. 

A month to the day, he checked his hypothesis. He searched each abandoned office for wards or traps or indicators of habitation as he went. He especially looked for comfortable furniture and full shelves—something to provide a sense of realism without too much work. 

The second to last office on the left was perfect. Whomever Professor Marcia Silva had been, she had filled her shelves with sculptures and figurines from all over the world. Her desk was large and well kept; the chairs on either side were springy and soft; the small sofa in the far corner would be useful once spelled to the right size.

When he got back to the Cottage, Eliot was lounging on the couch with Margo. Eliot raised his eyebrows in question; Quentin nodded; Eliot’s brilliant smile lit up the space between them. Quentin kissed him on the forehead before sliding up to Eliot’s side. If Margo noticed their exchange, she didn’t say anything about it, though she did inform Quentin that since he was last to join them he was responsible for drink refills.

It was late when Margo eventually left for bed; it was even later when Eliot and Quentin decided they could put down their wine and take their cuddles and tipsy kisses upstairs to Eliot’s room. Eliot took to the bathroom for his evening routine, and Quentin took a moment to squiggle a note on Eliot’s desk calendar for the next day: _MP-378 @8pm_ , _Telekinesis Final, Prof. Coldwater_.

* * *

Quentin gave himself close to an hour to get ready. He set up the framework for their preferred series of wards—one for protection, one for silence, one for privacy—so he could close them efficiently once Eliot arrived. He checked over his bag of supplies and stashed it behind the sofa. 

He kept going back and forth over the desk, making sure there weren’t any loose bits to worry about once Eliot would be naked and writhing on it. He kept checking over their toys and lube, making sure they were lined up perfectly on the shelves behind the chair he’d be sitting in to evaluate how Eliot performed for his “final.” 

He took one last look over the room. Professor Silva’s office had a sense of being cozy and lived in. The lamp in the corner gave off a faint, warm light. He hoped for a moment that the absent professor wouldn’t mind their use of her office, wherever she was, but mostly he just thanked her for providing an aesthetic he knew Eliot would appreciate.

When there wasn’t anything left in the room to fidget with, he started fidgeting with his hair, and his tie, and his hands. He wondered fleetingly if he should have dressed up more—but Professor Coldwater probably _wouldn’t_ dress in anything fancier than a grey button-down and tie. He wondered if he should have bought a new tie for the occasion—but Eliot had gifted him this one, and he hadn’t worn it yet. At the last minute, he decided to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. That seemed to be something that would suggest it was late and he was relaxing in his office, grading finals. He knew Eliot would like it, at least. 

Quentin just wanted it to be perfect for him. 

At precisely eight o’clock a knock came at the door. He cleared his throat, and finally sat down in the leather swivel chair behind his desk, “Come in.”

“Good evening, Professor Coldwater,” Eliot walked in and closed the door behind him. Quentin closed the wards, his hands moving under his desk to not distract them. He doubted much could distract Eliot, the way he was looking at him. He tried to keep his face impassive, but Eliot wasn’t exactly making it easy for him.

Quentin had wondered vaguely in preparing for their scene if maybe Eliot would surprise him and go for a more typical grad student ensemble. Maybe he would even think to raid his closet for one of the old, ratty hoodies Eliot complained about so much. Of course, he hadn’t. Quentin had based the entire first act of their scene around him _not_ deviating from his daily uniform, so it really was for the best. But Eliot had sailed right past his standard into fancy-dinner-date-who’s-really-the-professor-here land. 

Not that Quentin was complaining. 

Eliot’s emerald blazer, paired with one of his favorite navy vests and a light blue shirt was a beautiful combination. He offset everything with the dark gold tie that Quentin had bought him for Christmas. The only thing about Eliot’s presence that could have remotely gestured in the direction of “prototypical student” was the way his tie hung loosely around his collar. As if reading his mind, Eliot made a show of straightening it for his professor. Quentin watched his hands work the knot tighter and Eliot licked his lips: maybe a nervous student, but maybe an invitation.

“Mr. Waugh,” Quentin cleared his throat again, “Please, take a seat.”

“I got your message that you wanted me to take my final individually?” Eliot situated himself on one of two chairs on the other side of the desk, leaning back casually, putting himself on display, and daring Quentin to break and maul him.

He wasn’t above picturing it, at least.

“Yes, I thought it would only be fair to your classmates, considering your gift for the discipline.”

“And would you like for me to...rearrange your office for you?” he asked, looking pointedly at the collection of sex toys assembled on the shelf behind Quentin. 

“I would like to see how precise your abilities can be. Large objects are easy enough to move, any first-year can learn that. I’d like to see how you handle more detailed work.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Stand up,” he motioned for him to rise and Eliot obeyed, expression curious, open, trusting, “Take off your coat.”

Eliot lifted his arms and started to pull. 

“No,” Quentin interrupted, “Telekinesis only.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows, and smiled, “Yes, sir.”

He held his arms out only enough that his magic could lift the coat off of him, then magically folded it carefully over the back of his chair.

“Now your vest, one button at a time. Slowly. Let me evaluate your work as you go.”

Eliot drew out the time it took for each button, eyes burning into Quentin as he went one by one. He draped his vest over his blazer and started undoing his tie without direction. “Professor, are you sure? This seems...unconventional.”

“An unconventional test for unconventional prowess,” Quentin’s eyes followed closely as Eliot started unbuttoning his shirt, “You're doing quite well.” 

Eliot preened a little as magic peeled his shirt off his body.

“Let’s have your shoes and socks next. You’ve excelled beyond my expectations in class, Mr. Waugh,” Quentin felt warm as he leaned forward to watch Eliot undo his shoelaces with his magic, “I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of the extra attention you seem to give my lectures.”

“I’ve always found your material very compelling.” 

Quentin sucked his lips between his teeth as he leaned back in his chair again, “My material, or your daydreams?”

“What do you know about my daydreams, Professor?” 

“The belt next.” Eliot was very intentional with how he let the belt snap through the belt loops of his pants and clang as he dropped it to the floor. “Your eyes don’t hide much from me, Mr. Waugh, unless you’re telling me I misjudged?”

Eliot telekinetically undid the button to his pants, unzipped his fly, and pushed his pants to the floor, revealing his mesh thong, stark black against his pale skin. It did not do much to cover or contain him. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, sir.”

Quentin struggled not to smile as he nodded, trying to seriously consider his student’s grade.

Eliot took his chance then, to step around the desk between them. Quentin swiveled in his chair and watched the elegant sway of Eliot’s body. Unbidden, Eliot’s magic picked up Quentin’s hands and placed them on his hips. Quentin pressed his thumbs into the crevice between his hip and pelvis—right where Eliot loved his attention. Eliot sighed at the pressure and gave a gentle, shallow thrust forward. 

“I thought as much,” Quentin looked up through his eyelashes at Eliot, “As much as this is a final exam, I hope you’ll also find this a pleasant reward for your diligence this semester. Now, lift yourself up, onto the desk.”

Quentin could tell the part of Eliot that craved direction he didn’t have to second-guess had recognized the meaning and love and feeling behind Quentin’s words. For a moment, Quentin wasn’t sure if Eliot was going to forget their scene and fall to his knees for him instead. Eliot slowly smiled though. He hovered just slightly off the floor and perched himself right on the edge of the desk. He swung his bare legs back and forth in a play at innocence. “I hope I’m performing well so far, Professor.”

The open trust and desire in Eliot’s eyes punched through Quentin’s gut in the best way possible.

“You’re doing very well. You’re very good at following my instructions. Exactly why I needed to give you your exam alone.” Eliot visibly shivered, and Quentin continued, “Now, for the next section of the test, you won’t be needing this.” Quentin looped his fingers around the thong and pulled it down Eliot’s legs. He let his fingertips drag over what he knew were the most sensitive parts of Eliot’s thighs and calves and ankles. Eliot hummed appreciatively as Quentin dropped it on the desk next to his hip. 

“Next, I want you to select one of these and put it on yourself,” Quentin lifted a small tray off the shelf and presented it to Eliot. It was a small selection of their favorites: a simple silicone penis ring that let Quentin give him more for longer, a larger cock ring that would vibrate around Eliot’s cock and balls at Quentin’s discretion, and a shiny, titanium chastity cage that left enough skin exposed for Quentin’s enjoyment.

“ _Professor_ ,” Eliot whispered, running his fingers over the edge of the tray.

“Telekinesis only,” Quentin reminded him. Eliot nodded, eyes still darting over the tray. Usually, he didn’t get to pick; usually, he _wanted_ Quentin to pick. But this scene was supposed to be a little bit different, and Quentin wanted it to _feel_ different. This time, Eliot had simply asked for a scene with one, Professor Coldwater, and then he wanted to be _surprised_. Letting Eliot pick was surprising, and so far, Eliot was clearly intrigued. The satisfaction that he’d done something _right_ —and more especially, that he’d done something right _for Eliot_ —was deep red, sweet, spicy, warm mulled wine his soul could get drunk off of and subsist on for the rest of his life. 

Eliot’s magic reached forward to pick up the cage. He settled the cool metal around his cock without touching it. He breathed in hard and exhaled harder as he lifted his eyes to meet Quentin’s. 

“Excellent choice,” he said as he returned the rejected devices to the shelf. Quentin could feel his own erection growing in his jeans and tried to shift inconspicuously in his seat. “Now, we have a series of items we’re going to move through. Bring the other tray over and take a look at them.”

The tray hovered between them, a row of five plugs with different shapes and features. Eliot was intimately familiar with all of them—two from his own collection, one from Quentin’s, and two they’d shopped for together. 

“Sir, you want me to pick one of these to use on myself?” Eliot’s voice was dry, a little bit shaky. He was nearing the top layer of subspace. Quentin stood up and pushed the floating tray to the side.

“No, Mr. Waugh,” Quentin framed Eliot’s face with his hands, pulling him back just a little bit. He wanted this to last, which meant Eliot needed to maintain some sense of control over himself for now, “I want you to to pick up each of these in order and use them all on yourself. Do you think you can do that for me?” 

Eliot’s breath quickened, and he looked over the collection again, “Professor. That _mm_. That sounds—”

”Yeah?”

”That sounds amazing,” Eliot swayed a little, looking caught between wanting to shove Quentin backwards into the shelves and wanting to forget the world and plunge headfirst into deep subspace. Quentin felt another trill of success trickle down his spine.

Quentin brushed Eliot’s curls to the side. Few things were prettier than Eliot Waugh trying desperately to let go and let himself trust fall towards Quentin. He pressed closer between Eliot’s naked thighs and dipped his voice lower, “Do you think you can do that for me without coming? Lay back on my desk and let me watch? I’ll help you know when to stop; I’ll help you get a good grade. That’s what professors are for, after all.”

The sound Eliot made was eager, beautiful and sent electricity through Quentin’s entire body. Eliot leaned back, planting his feet firmly on the edge of the desk and displaying himself for Quentin. 

“Good boy,” Quentin whispered, trailing a finger between the bars on the cage, over Eliot’s balls, around his perineum. “Make sure you get yourself enough lube.”

As Quentin settled back in his chair, Eliot magically unscrewed the top off the jar of lube. His powers picked up the first toy from the lineup. It was the smallest one, but it was bent so that every thrust would hit his prostate and it was curled at the end to rub behind his balls as it moved in and out. Quentin watched carefully as Eliot spread a ball of lube over the tip of the dildo, and another ball over, around, and inside himself. 

“Tell me when,” Eliot gasped out, his magic holding the toy right at his entrance. 

“Such a good boy,” Quentin said, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing the curve of Eliot’s ass, “I want you to enjoy yourself. This is your exam—show me how well you can _perform_ , hm? Fuck yourself with that toy whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. I’ll just warn you if it looks like you’re too close to breaking.”

Eliot took a deep breath, and his magic pushed the dildo inside him. He shifted, getting used to the intrusion, pulling out and in with flawless magic. Quentin had wrapped his hands around the end of this toy often enough that he knew what it felt like to slide inside his partner but to just _watch_ without any control over the speed or angle or pressure was a different level of arousal. Quentin palmed the front of his pants; his eyes glued to the process as Eliot made himself cry out in a timbre just slightly off from what Quentin was used to hearing. 

“That’s it, baby,” Quentin said, knuckles slowly turning white as he gripped the armrests of his chair, “Make yourself feel good.”

Eliot’s breath hitched each time the gentle curl at the base rubbed against him. Then, he’d shift the toy up and down, as if stroking himself from the inside out, massaging his perineum deliberately and firmly. Then he’d pull out slowly, slowly, slowly, exhaling as he went. Every few strokes were punctuated with a deep moan that Quentin recognized as a cock—silicone or otherwise—pushing against his prostate. 

God, he looked good doing it, too: back arched, a sheen of sweat starting to form across his brow, beautiful hands pressing his knees wider, asshole puckering as he pulled the dildo almost all the way out before pushing it back inside himself. It was giving Quentin all sorts of ideas of how to use this toy the next time he was in control.

Quentin loved watching what the cage around his cock was doing to him. He was already dark red and straining against each band of smooth metal. As Eliot shifted against the dildo, his cock bounced slightly, though the cage kept it heavy and weighed down. Normally at this point, Quentin would be stroking him through the openings between each bar, and Eliot would be keening at the overstimulation. Instead, he seemed to be keening from the restraint with a delightful resonance. 

“Stop,” Quentin said and Eliot froze at the word, “That’s enough of that one.” 

Eliot pulled it out, letting go of a shaky breath. 

“Now the next,” Quentin commanded, and Eliot’s powers grabbed it, lubed it up, and didn’t even wait to see if Quentin was going to tell him when. He was too desperate for it to wait. 

The second was the most authentic of the set, with a lifelike circumcised head and loose balls that smacked against Eliot’s skin with a surprisingly realistic sound. 

“Work yourself up to it. That’s it,” Quentin loosened his tie and rubbed his hands over his own chest, “You want to come, don’t you, _Mr. Waugh_? Wouldn’t be a real test if I made it easy for you. Fuck yourself harder. Wanna hear how it feels from those pretty lips of yours.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eliot murmured, his hips grinding back against the silicone, trying to get more leverage, “Fuck, it’s—”

“You ever fuck yourself like this when you’re on your own?” Quentin was starting to feel himself go flush. He pulled his long hair back behind his ears, eyes trained on the cock’s expert slide in and out under Eliot’s direction, quick and hard.

“I...yes. I can. I have.”

“You think about your Professor Coldwater while you do it?” 

“Jesus _fuck._ ”

“Harder, Mr. Waugh.”

Eliot slammed the dildo in and out of himself frantically several more times before Quentin stood and pressed his palm against the base of it, holding it inside of Eliot, working against the force of his magic. Quentin wrapped a hand around his caged cock and Eliot whined a sound Quentin relished. 

“That’s it, isn’t it? If I took this off you right now, you’d come right here, all over your professor’s desk. But your test isn’t done yet. You need to be good for three more.”

Eliot was breathing hard, his eyes open and wild, devouring Quentin with abandon. 

“Let’s move on, shall we? I think this one has been almost too much for you.” Quentin pulled the dildo out of his own accord and Eliot shuddered at the emptiness. 

“I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself, Mr. Waugh,” Quentin sat back in his chair, squirming to adjust his pants, “When you’ve calmed down a bit, we can continue.”

Eliot let himself slump down. He let himself try to relax; let himself try to regain an ounce of composure. 

“Sir...I can...I’m ready,” Eliot said, still gulping down air. Quentin smiled, and ran a comforting hand over Eliot’s calf. He waited until the rise and fall of Eliot’s chest calmed and his breath wasn’t as ragged. Finally, Eliot nodded. He knew what Quentin expected of him.

The next one was thick and ribbed, with a suction cup base. 

“Alright, Mr. Waugh. If you think you’re ready. I expect you to be lifting yourself for this one, no shortcuts.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Eliot lifted himself into the air and hovered there as he called the dildo over to him. It stuck to the smooth surface of the desk easily. Then he carefully lowered himself onto it. Quentin took a deep breath as he watched Eliot spread his knees and run his hands into his hair. He tilted his head back and started lifting himself up and down in the air, excruciatingly slowly for the both of them. 

Eliot had told Quentin once that lifting live things was more difficult than inanimate objects. It made sufficient sense, but Quentin wasn’t sure how much of a difference it really made. He certainly didn’t seem to be struggling now as he rocked himself up and down, embracing the _performance_ of it with his arms writhing over himself.

His efforts did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.

A few more dips and a wicked smile spread across Eliot's lips. He spread his legs out on the next descent, his body spread in a wide v-shape, magic still holding him aloft. It gave Quentin a much better perspective as the dildo spread Eliot open and pierced him through to his core. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Quentin whispered.

“Tell me,” Eliot whined.

“You’re so good,” Quentin said, a little louder, “Good, and beautiful, and perfect.”

Eliot groaned at the back of his throat, his head lolled back, eyes closed, “Sir, please, keep telling me.”

“I’ll tell you all night, sweetheart. You’re amazing. You’re stunning. Spectacular. Playing with yourself. Letting me watch. Being so _good_ , following my instructions,” Quentin’s jeans itched and his shirt felt too tight and his shoes and socks were prisons for his feet. He took his tie off—he was certain he could control his impulse to pull Eliot into his lap if he took his tie off, “Let’s move on to the next one, shall we, Mr. Waugh?”

Eliot pouted, and Quentin was tempted to wipe it off with a kiss, but instead, Eliot turned himself in the air so Quentin could watch him bob up and down from behind. 

“ _Baby_ …” Quentin said under his breath.

“ _Professor_ ,” Eliot answered back, reverence in his voice, “Please.” 

“The next one,” Quentin commanded, “You’re ready for the next one.”

Eliot suspended himself in the air and waited, body shaking with the effort. 

“Alright,” Quentin smoothed his hair behind his ears and cleared his throat, “Alright. Let’s go on to the next one then. Let’s move that one back to the tray. On your hands and knees, now, Mr. Waugh. I want to watch this next one from right here.”

The next one was a wide glass bulb that would stretch Eliot good and wide but was too shallow to reach as deep as he would want. They both knew this. 

Eliot’s magic moved the glass plug into position. 

“Wait,” Quentin said. He stood up and moved closer to the desk. He placed one hand on Eliot’s back, and one hand around his balls, which earned him an absolutely filthy sound from Eliot’s lips, “Now, Mr. Waugh, you may begin.”

The glass slid inside Eliot and drew a slight sob from him as it moved—not deep enough. It spread him deliciously though, as Quentin watched his ass wrap open for the wide bulb then pinch around the skinny neck to settle behind the base. 

“That’s it, keep going. You’re gorgeous like this. You’re unbelievable,” Quentin encouraged him.

Eliot’s legs shook as Quentin’s fingers moved to play along the exposed skin of his cock. He whined as the glass couldn’t reach where he needed it. He tried accelerating the pace. He tried rolling his hips to get more from Quentin’s hand. 

“You need it so much don’t you.” Eliot sobbed in response. “This is your final exam. Keep pushing harder. Show me you deserve that grade.”

“Goddamn,” Eliot whined, “ _Please_ , I need…”

Quentin pressed his fingers between the bars around Eliot’s cock more firmly.

“Oh my _god_!”

Quentin wanted to flip Eliot over and rake his hands over his body. He wanted to pull Eliot into his arms and make him forget everything that cried out for isolation and defense. He wanted to crawl beneath Eliot’s skin and never let him be alone again. He wanted to make Eliot scream.   
  
They’d get there, but they needed to be patient.

When Eliot’s moans became unintelligible and he began contorting his body to try for any amount of release he could find, Quentin decided they’d been patient enough.

“I think you’re ready for the last one.”

Quentin pulled the glass dildo out for Eliot and placed it on the tray. It wasn’t hovering beside Eliot anymore, but the way Eliot was shaking, he decided to let it pass.

“Let’s get you on your back again, Mr. Waugh. You’re doing so well, believe me.”

Eliot rolled over with some effort, his knees falling open.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Quentin ran his hands over Eliot’s smooth skin and his muscles twitched in response.

“Want you,” Eliot whispered, still trying to catch his breath.

“You’re doing so good,” Quentin whispered back. He readied the final dildo for Eliot. It was a thick silicone one, with a prominent band wrapped around the length to give Eliot an extra bit of stimulation he definitely didn’t need after everything they’d already done. Quentin slid it inside Eliot without preamble and he yelped, but relaxed as Quentin pumped it in and out a few times.

“Alright, darling, your turn.”

Magic wrapped around Quentin’s hand and kept it secure around the dildo as Eliot started guiding it in and out. Quentin groaned himself, unable to take his eyes off where Eliot opened for him. He ran his free hand up Eliot’s side; pinched a peaked nipple; pushed a firm hand against Eliot’s abs as his cock strained against the chastity cage. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” Quentin said, as he pulled his free hand away from Eliot’s skin and pulled the remote control in his back pocket. He started at the slowest setting. Eliot thrust his hips into the air with a wild sound. Quentin could feel Eliot’s magic let go, so he kept pumping the now vibrating dildo in and out on his own. 

“I— _fuck_ ,” Eliot sobbed. 

“I know, baby, keep it up, we’re almost there.”

A shudder wracked Eliot’s body again as Quentin increased the speed and strength of the vibration.

“Stay with me, baby.”

Eliot’s thrusts were frantic. As much as the vibrations gave him, with the cage in place, he couldn’t find the release valve. He held himself off the desk like an offering to Quentin, and Quentin kept driving the device into him, relishing each moan and sob it brought out.

“Sir, _please_ ,” Eliot choked out. A few more firm thrusts and Quentin finally relented to kill the vibration. He gently pulled the dildo out. He leaned in and covered Eliot’s shaking body with as much of his own as he could reach. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered as he kissed the center of Eliot’s chest, “You’re doing so good. So good. Now, the last part of your exam. Okay?” 

Eliot choked back another sob and Quentin rubbed his chest, trying to soothe him.

“I just need you to turn yourself over and bend over the desk. Present yourself for me. You’ve prepared yourself so well, now it’s time for me to give you the last part of your exam: how well do you take your professor’s cock?”

Groaning, Eliot rolled over, positioned himself with his feet on the floor and his body braced on his elbows over the desk. He whimpered with a needy, relieved sound from deep in his chest; Quentin couldn’t tell if the tingling through his body at the sound was from love or pride or something else altogether.

“You can take your cage off, now, Mr. Waugh.” The metal clanged almost instantly against the floor as Eliot’s powers released it. Eliot canted his hips back pleading, desperate. 

“So good baby; you’ve been such a good boy tonight.” Quentin unzipped his pants and slipped them down with his boxers, just low enough to let his cock free. He spread a line of precum over Eliot’s ass that had Eliot moaning even deeper for him. Quentin let his cock bounce heavy against Eliot’s ass once, twice, three times, each slap making Eliot gasp for breath.

Quentin relished the sound, “You wanna slick your professor up, baby?” 

Eliot tried. His entire body shook with the effort. He so obviously wanted nothingbut to give his professor exactly what he asked for, but the jar was unsteady as he struggled to lift it into the air. Tension lashed its way up Eliot’s back, his magic clashing with his subspace the longer he tried. Quentin plucked the jar out of Eliot’s magicked grasp and Eliot whimpered a distraught, miserable sound.

“ _Shh_ , baby, it’s okay. You’ve done so good for me, let me do this for you.” He rubbed soothing circles over Eliot’s shaking shoulders.

“Wannabe...for you,” Eliot bowed his head into his hands and rocked his hips back. Quentin couldn’t count the number of ways Eliot had completed that sentence for him before. Quentin kept his hands moving in circles over his shoulder blades, down his back, over his hip bones, willing him to relax into just being _them_. 

“You’ve been perfect.” 

Eventually, Eliot stopped shaking, and Quentin leaned over to kiss the center of his spine. 

Quentin placed one hand firmly against Eliot’s hip. He took his cock in his other hand, stroking and teasing the edge of Eliot’s raw, open, ready hole. He held back, waiting for Eliot’s keens of need to escalate as Quentin brushed his tip up and down, closer, closer, _closer_ to where his baby needed him, but not quite there.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” Quentin whispered, “Let’s see how much you have left.” 

Eliot threw his head back as Quentin pushed into him. Back and forth, they rocked together until Quentin was bottoming out, focused on his core, brushing against his prostate with near every pass and making his moans turn to screams with every thrust. 

“Watching you was near impossible, what you’ve done to me. Feel how hard you made me? That’s all you, sweetheart.”

Eliot said something Quentin couldn’t quite hear as he drove into him. 

Quentin gripped Eliot’s hips harder and thrust in deeper. “You wanna come on my cock, now, don’t you?”

“ _Yes_.”

“I’m going to come inside you. _Need_ to fill you up,” Quentin gripped Eliot’s shoulder for better leverage. He fucked into Eliot faster and Eliot cried out a beautiful sound, “Gimme everything, baby. You gonna come for me?”

“ _Yeah_. So...so...”

“Come for me.”

Eliot whined and bent his back deeper as he rocked back harder to meet Quentin’s thrusts.

“Fucking, come for me like you belong to me.”

“ _Y_ _ours_!” Eliot shouted as his back tensed and he spilled over the desk, over the floor, over his thighs, “Yes, _yours-yours-yours-yours-yours_.”

“Not done with you,” Quentin didn’t stop or slow down as Eliot kept crying out, “Not done with your body yet.”

“ _Yes_! Need-you-need-you... _yours_! Make me _yours_.”

“ _Fuck_ , yes!” Quentin punched his orgasm deep inside Eliot and kept punching it in with each release. He reached around Eliot and pumped at his spent cock, making Eliot shudder all around him.

Quentin waited a few moments, enjoying the sound of their rising and falling breath, blissfully drifting in the feeling of being wrapped up in each other. He eventually pulled out, rubbing his hands over Eliot’s back as he did. He guided Eliot up by his shoulders and let him slump against him. Spelling the sofa into a decent-sized lounger was sloppy work, but Quentin didn’t think twice about it. He was too focused on kissing Eliot’s neck, his shoulder, any place he could reach to gentle and caress and love.

Quentin didn’t need to say anything as he lay down and Eliot spread himself out, covering Quentin possessively. Quentin kissed Eliot on his temple and buried a hand in his hair. In a minute, he’d make Eliot sit up—give him a drink, feed him some cheese and apple slices, clean the cum and sweat off his beautiful body—but this part was always Quentin’s favorite, and Eliot had been amazing. He wanted to soak in the moment of being Eliot’s a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Five Times Eliot Waugh Got a Fake Dick and One Time He Didn't? 
> 
> I dunno captain, you tell me.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
